Sweet Cantarella
by OMariquitaO
Summary: The past catches up with you. It always does. Even when you are imprisoned in Azkaban. Even when you are Lucius Malfoy.


**Cantarella**

The past catches up with you. It always will. Even when you are imprisoned in Azkaban. Even when you are Lucius Malfoy.

_A few years ago I wrote this story in German and now started to translate it. Please let me know what you think. The next chapter will follow soon._

Oooo00oooo

Daily Prophet, 21.03.1975

**Death Eater Create Bloodbath – Is Italy the next country to suffer at the hands of evil?**

By Walden Skeeter

_Last night we received a disturbing and shocking message by our foreign correspondent, Pablo Piccinini._

_In the early morning hours of March 20, Positano, a quaint and secluded village situated near the Gulf of Salerno, became the scene of a terrible tragedy._

_According to the reports of several distraught witnesses, who have no idea why and how they survived, the village was attacked by a group of six Death Eaters. _

_After destroying nearly all buildings the followers of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named assaulted Positano's innocent residents. Muggleborns as well as the magician villagers were initially tortured before being killed mercilessly. _

_Whether this horrible massacre served a particular purpose or was merely committed out of sheer cruelty remains as unknown the attacker's identities._

_The Italian Minister of Magic has just enlarged the number of aurors patrolling the country's borders and even is considering cooperating with our institutions._

„_The dangerous threat of the one who calls himself ‚Lord' is growing and starting to cast its shadow over other countries", the Minister told Piccinini in an exclusive interview shortly after the Minister's return from the side of destruction. „ I will do everything in my power to protect my country against this foreign threat. And considering the recent tragedy an international cooperation among the Ministries of Magic seems to be an important step in the right direction."_

_The Minister has – without doubt – high hopes for his political plans. But if they will prevent further attacks is questionable. One thing we know for sure: For the victims of Positano all diplomatic exploits come much too late and we have to ask ourselves the question: Who is going to be next?_

**Chapter 1: Not Alone **

After leaving the quiet depths of unconsciousness, the first thing he did was feel. He felt the pounding in his head, the uncomfortable dizziness behind his eyes, and the numbness of his body, which still seemed to be sleeping while his mind slowly began to have clear thoughts again.

Over the past months, Lucius got into the habit of enjoying those precious seconds between sleeping and awakening. He clinged to them desperately because they were the only time of day during which he felt nothing except for a comfortable drowsiness...no pain, no sorrows, no worries, no regrets.

After those delightful seconds had faded, the only thing that would remain was an ever-present exhaustion, by which first his body and eventually his mind had been taken over.

No sleep was able to fend off this kind of exhaustion; at least no sleep in prison. But after two years in Azkaban, freedom was a prospect Lucius regarded as highly unrealistic.

The more he regained consciousness the he more felt. Exhaustion was joined by another unpleasant feeling, which resembled pain. Or rather, the distant memory of pain he suffered a few hours ago, caused in a tiny holding cell by self-righteous people who claimed to fight for the light side - the good side - of magic. As far as Lucius was concerned, these members of the ‚good side' were as skilled as any Death Eater he had encountered in inflicted pain on unarmed prisoners. Day after day they tried to bring Lucius to turn against his people, to betray everything he had been fighting for and made tremendous sacrifices for over the last decades.

Day after day they tried again.

Day after day his mind sought refugee in merciful blackness.

Day after day they failed.

Day after day he won. In a crazy, twisted kind of way.

Soon enough after awakening and regaining the ability to feel his own body, the sounds of Azkaban, mainly the screams, would force their way into his mind. And when he finally opened his eyes, he was greeted by the never-changing darkness that had been surrounding him for the last two years.

After a while, with just blackness and tormented screams as companions, Lucius had started to listen to his own feelings examining them more thoroughly than he had ever done before in his life. And sometimes he regretted that he started in doing so now, after reaching a point in his life where the insights he gained about himself would make no difference anymore.

Most of the time his feelings were very similar to each other but once in a while one emotion would be slightly more prominent than the others, offering his mind a little change and some diversion to focus on.

Little changes were better than no changes at all. Insanity was caused by standstill. And Lucius had been on its verge more than once.

His lips curled into a bitter smile. Today was a good day. Instead of sadness and regret he felt frustration, fury and desperation. These were no good feelings by normal standards, but in Azkaban you only felt alive when hot fury or raging desperation was burning inside you.

He had gotten used to the constant exhaustion, but not to all the frustration and bitterness haunting him. Frustration about his situation, bitterness and fury about his helplessness and the cruel despair, which so far he had managed to suppress because otherwise it would have poisoned his thoughts and bit by bit his whole mind, leaving only bits and pieces of memories and thoughts that would never make sense again.

Sometimes fighting against despair and madness was easy. Sometimes it was not. Today was a good day because suddenly Lucius had a very special feeling, a feeling that he hadn't had felt for a long time. He was shivering. His heart start started to beat faster. Every inch of his body was alert. He sat up as quietly as he could. His back leaned against the smooth, cold stonewall and from this position he tried to scan his surroundings. All the distant screams made it difficult to hear anything else, but in a brief moment of silence, he made out a noise that sounded like someone exhaling.

His eyes darted in the direction of the noise and after a few minutes of starring, he was sure to see something within in the darkness. A shadow concealed by a shadow.

A grim smile appeared on Lucius' lips. Event after all this time he could still rely on his instincts. He was not alone in the cell.

A dark voice confirmed his observation. „I was worried that you would never wake up again."

Despite the thick accent, Lucius immediately knew that a woman was talking to him.

„Who are you", he replied warily, knowing that he had to be careful as long as he didn´t know who his new cellmate was.

In Azkaban names were important. Mostly the mere name of a prisoner told you everything: the character of its owner, his history, his alliances, the reason for his imprisonment. There lay so much power in just a name, and power was something Lucius had always craved.

„Lucrezia Angiorelli."

At first Lucius was startled that his cellmate was so willing to give up her identity. However, after searching his memories, he knew why she was so careless. He had no idea who she was. He never even had heard a name that sounded familiar to hers.

And he knew almost every name of all the families in Great Britain - well, at least the names that were worth knowing. It had been part of his education to associate every respective name with the family's reputation, fortune and – most importantly – the pureness of its blood. This way, upon being officially introduced into society after graduating from Hogwarts, he always knew whom to honour with his attention, whom to use in order to accomplish his ambitions and whom to simply avoid.

He had never heard about a family named Angiorelli, but the sound of the name and the woman´s accent caused him to assume that she originally came from the south of Europe.

„Italy", the woman spoke into the darkness as if she had read Lucius´ mind. „And your name is?"

Her question was followed by a few minutes of silence, in which Lucius contemplated whether it was wise to give away his name and, in doing so, everything there was to know about him.

„Lucius Malfoy."

It hadn't been wise, he was aware of that as soon as he had spoken the two little words. But in the end, his longing to have a decent, sane conservation with another human being had gotten the better of him.

„Lucius Malfoy." Lucrezia repeated his name slowly, savouring its sound, her lips carefully forming every letter.

Lucius had the uncomfortable feeling as if she was examining his name. As if she would analyse every syllable and search her memory for bits and pieces she could associate with him. As if she would drink his name up, make it a part of herself and assign it a place in the web of her memories.

"An old name", she finally said. "An important name, even in Italy. A name full of blood and full of pain."

„Well, I'm quite sure that in this regard your name is in no way inferior to mine, Miss Angiorelli. Otherwise you wouldn't be in Azkaban." His voice was colder than the walls of their prison, but Lucrezia's only answer was a quiet laugh.

It was a hard, emotionless laugh, similar to Bellatrix's. But contrary to his sister in law's laugh this one bore no sign of insanity. On the contrary, it was one of the sanest and most calculated laughs Lucius had ever heard. It had an effect on him that so far only the Dark Lord could achieve.

It made him cringe.


End file.
